The mouth of one crosses the mouth of the other. The first eye is visible but not the second eye, unless the second eye is also the eye of the other man.
The two faces are not superimposed neatly, one upon the other. One lies behind the other. Much belongs to the young and not to the old and vice versa. For instance, the young man has a thin neck, is embodied, whereas the older gentleman has gone beyond some of that, having become cheeks and brow and blue veins. And the first head is more angular, fresher hued, the face carved, more attractive. The second, while not unattractive, is that of an elder.
And what are we seeing in this drawing? One aging, the other aged? The one aging into the aged? Is it the kiss–the nose eye kiss–of tranquilidad? O senor, tranquilo!
Are we observing the warrior and the philosopher? The young man of action (vita activa) and the old man of leisure (vita contemplativa)? Thymos and sophia, Defiance and Love, Mettle and Patience? (Ten pacienca, por favor… Los suenos suenos son.)
To make sense of this, let us return, once more, to the kiss. The older man, let us say, is kissing the young man softly with age. Kissing away his fighting with life. Kissing away his helmet, his battle with leaky time, this with his long, white coils: away all with his limp hair, his friendly mien, his sated time.
By means of philosophy, one sees the other eye to eye, nose to nose, word into word. The blue lines are ours.
Thanks to one conversation partner for sharing with me this beautiful drawing of our first conversation together. I cannot think apart from the other. I cannot think at all. In my words, I mean to do justice to you. Ever that. Ever in gratitude, A.